


Your Love Grew Me Flowers

by pancakeparker



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hanahaki Disease, Long Shot, M/M, One Shot, Reader has Hanahaki Disease, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 14:29:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21076406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pancakeparker/pseuds/pancakeparker
Summary: Hanahaki disease is a disease in which the person affected begins to cough up, and in some cases vomit, flowers due to unrequited love.You, the reader, have it. All thanks to a well-known Ultimate Yakuza on the same island as you.You know what the cure is, but... the disease is progressing quicker than you thought.





	Your Love Grew Me Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> hello hello!! this is a LOT longer than i thought it would be, as the writer. i stayed up until 3 AM writing this, and i think it turned out pretty damn nice. not to toot my own horn or anything.
> 
> anyway, before y'all jump into the one shot, this is about hanahaki! there are mentions of blood and vomit within these paragraphs! so if you don't like that stuff, it might be best to turn away. 
> 
> if you're all good, i hope you enjoy!! please leave a comment or give kudos if you really like it! uwu

If someone had asked you to recall the last time you had felt _ this _ terrible, you wouldn’t have been able to give an answer. Truth be told, this was the absolute worst you had felt in ages. Harsh coughs jolted your body, matter stuck in your throat as you broke out into a clammy sweat from struggling to cough it up for so long. Everyone had taken note of how reclusive you had been lately, trying desperately to drag you out of your cottage and into the world outside.

But you politely refused every single time.

The only person who really knew what was up was Mikan - of course. She came to try and invite you out to the pool with everyone else one night, and her rambling kept you in front of her long enough to where a couple of bright red petals flew out of your mouth in her sight. She let out a frightened squeak, stuttering through her ramblings on the disease as she ushered you back inside your cottage for the night. “Please, please don’t tell anyone what I have, Mikan. I’d rather die than have my feelings outed to everyone.”

She swallowed, her eyebrows furrowing together to form an anxious expression. “B-but if you don’t c-confess…!” She began, tears beading in her eyes.

“Shh, shh. I know. But there’s nothing I can do about it. He’ll never feel the same.” You whispered, trying to clear your throat of the tickling sensation from the petals.

“C-can you at least… tell me who it is…?” She asked, too timid for her own good.

You sighed, eyes cast downward. “...Fuyuhiko…” Your voice broke as you began coughing again, harder this time. The force was causing fiery pain to spread through your ribs, tears streaming down your face as you struggled to cough up the bane of your existence. Mikan rushed to bring you a garbage can, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder as you leaned into it and began to vomit profusely. This time, the heads of the roses were intact, only bringing you more pain as they left your esophagus. Frightened noises continued leaving Mikan’s mouth as she started to cry, worried for your well being.

She simply told everyone that you were already asleep, and didn’t want to bother waking you.

Days upon days passed with no confession from either side - in fact, Fuyuhiko didn’t seem to notice that you were even sick. He went on with life as normally as he could, unaware of the turmoil that he was the cause of.

To everyone’s amazement, you showed up at breakfast one morning. You didn’t look… _great,_ per se, but you were alive and everyone was thrilled to see you out and about. Some began showering you with questions, Mahiru going so far as to pouring you the last of the orange juice that was out. You accepted it gratefully, taking a small sip and hiding your wince as the liquid passed through your torn throat. However, the coldness relieved just a bit of the sore, achy feeling, so you continued sipping at it. You briefly explained that you had been feeling sick for the past few weeks, and it wasn’t getting any better. People immediately turned to start prodding at Mikan with various questions, only stopping when you urged them to. She stumbled and explained that there was nothing to be done about the disease you had, that it would eventually go away in due time. However, you both knew deep down that living wasn’t the only option. 

You could very well die, too.

So… you convinced yourself to sit at Fuyuhiko’s table near the second half of breakfast. He hadn’t been present when you explained you were sick, so he was still acting indifferent and standoffish as usual. As soon as you sat down, his top lip curled up in a sort of grimace. “What the fuck do you want?” He sneered, looking you over in a manner only described as disgust. Probably due to how pale and generally sickly you looked.

“I… I dunno. I just wanted to sit by you, I guess…?” You murmured, realizing the stupidity you were spouting. You sat there, preparing for the worst things to come out of his mouth-

“..._ Fine._ Just, don’t be fucking annoying.” He huffed, starting to eat his breakfast. You were taken aback by his unexpectedly timid response, stuck staring into your orange juice. “What the hell are you doing? I doubt a glass of fucking juice is that interesting. Dumbass.” You gave a sheepish smile, taking another sip while pondering whether or not to say anything further. Before you could even think of a topic, a cough bubbled up in your chest. Almost instantly, tears started to pour down your face - some sort of conditioning from the pain of other ferocious coughing attacks. The coughs became worse and worse, and you placed your glass on the table with a trembling hand, covering your mouth with your free one. You eventually stumbled over to the trashcan in the corner of the restaurant, leaning over the brim and finally coughing up the head of another rose, this one yellow with red tips. You… hadn’t seen one this color before. Just red ones, the ones that just meant ‘romance’. 

“Woah, shit! If you’re that sick, why the fuck are you even out of bed?! No one else wants to get sick, you know!” Fuyuhiko hollered from across the restaurant. Hot tears kept streaming down your face, dripping into the trash can as the soreness of your throat came back in full swing. Wiping saliva from your mouth, you turned around to walk back to the table.

“I-It’s a disease. It’s not contagious, Fuyuhiko. You don’t have to worry about getting sick…” You paused, taking another soothing sip of orange juice and studying his expression. His eyebrows were furrowed together and his lips were pursed just a small bit. 

“A disease, huh? Can’t that clumsy-ass nurse tell you how to get better, or whatever?” He scoffed, his fork making an unceremonious _clink against_ his plate as he put the utensil down. You held back a sympathetic smile.

“I know the cure. It’s just… improbable. I can’t get better unless-” You shook your head once more, closing your mouth before anything more revealing about your condition could escape. “I’d better get back to my cottage. That fit took a lot out of me.” You stood from the table, your voice growing rougher by the minute. Before you could leave, Fuyuhiko pushed his glass across the table toward you. You simply looked down at it, head tilted slightly in confusion.

“...I didn’t fucking drink out of it. Just take it. You sound like shit.” He murmured, focusing on his food once more. You beamed, taking the glass in both hands.

“Thanks, Fuyu.” Disregarding the last part, you took a sip before starting the journey back to your cottage. Your bed. Sleep. Rest sounded so good right now.

You failed to note that Fuyuhiko didn’t dispute at the nickname you gave him.

You managed to stay awake long enough to finish the juice Fuyuhiko had offered you. By the time you reached the bottom of the glass, you were nearly half asleep. Placing the now empty cup on the stand next to you, you finally moved to lay down on the comfortable, cool mattress. You fell into a deep, relaxing sleep almost immediately.

\--

You ended up sleeping all day. People had tried knocking, hollering, to no avail. You were in such a deep sleep, it could be compared to a coma. However, when you finally woke up, your body retaliated with a fierce Hanahaki fit - one worse than any previous. You could feel a sharp, stabbing pain taking up your entire esophagus, the fresh coppery taste of blood coating your tongue. You gagged at the strength, spitting a mix of blood and saliva onto the rug in front of your bed. Tears were clouding your vision once more due to the harsh coughs rattling you, causing you to stumble as you headed toward your bathroom. You leaned over the sink, retching and gagging until the offending matter finally left your body. When the tears finally cleared and you could see once more, you wished that you wouldn’t have looked. In your sink, amidst a pool of saliva, bile, and blood, was a wholly intact pink rose. You heaved into the bowl again, a couple of loose petals floating out of your mouth before you fainted onto the tile below.

\--

Fuyuhiko had been pacing along his cottage floor for a few minutes now, unable to keep his mind off of you. God, you weren’t even that important. Just another fucking person in the midst of this stupid fucking “school trip”. Even though he tried to convince himself that you were unimportant, that your well-being didn’t matter, that you were just another obstacle in his way - he couldn’t accept it, no matter how hard he tried. The images of you from this morning, pale and sickly, leaning over the trashcan and making those disgusting noises as you forced _something_ out of your body - something he later discovered was the head of a rose - had stuck with him. 

He had immediately stormed over to that clumsy dumbass nurse’s cottage after breakfast and _demanded _to know what kind of fucking stupid disease that was, because as far as he knew, coughing up flowers was some sort of made-up fairy tale shit that he had no interest in believing was real. But Mikan, stuttering and whimpering throughout her whole explanation, managed to instill a new fear inside of the Ultimate Yakuza’s heart - a fear that you might die.

No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that he wasn’t afraid you’d die because he _liked _you, or because you were _enjoyable _or something - that was exactly the reason he was afraid. Everyone he seemed to take a liking to was eventually ripped away from him by the cold, cruel hands of the world as some sort of payment for who he was. He’d be damned if you died because some dumb person didn’t like you back. That would be a fucking dumb way to die, and he believed that no one deserved to die like _that. _

So, right after the nighttime announcement, he headed over to your cottage. Standing by the mailbox, he noticed that all the lights were on, but there was absolutely no sound coming from the place. He let out an indignant huff, walking up to the door and rapping his fist against the hardwood. He stood in silence for a moment, rolling his eyes and knocking again - this time with a more impatient feel. After another few moments of absolutely nothing, he began to bang his fist against your door with no restraint. The pit of fear that Mikan had opened up inside of him was starting to grow, fed by his anxiety as he continued to receive absolutely no response.

Fuyuhiko’s breathing was ragged and harsh, his fist throbbing from the abuse it had suffered against the door. Not only that, but his face was entirely red now, one vein making itself prominent in his forehead. He had to turn to the last solution he knew: “Hey, you dumbass stuffed animal! Monokuma!” He hollered, voice turning hoarse from anger.

“How many times do I have to tell you: I’m _ not _a stuffed animal!” The bear growled, his mechanical claws shining in the starlight. 

“Yeah, yeah, what-the-fuck-ever! Would you just fucking let me in here, robobear?” Fuyuhiko retorted, crossing his arms impatiently. Monokuma placed a paw in front of his own mouth, giggling.

“How bold of a wannabe blackened to ask me-” The bear began, but Fuyuhiko interrupted it with a hard _stomp _on the stone path, fists balled by his sides. 

“If you think I’d ask for help - much less from a fucking useless piece of machinery like _ you_\- in a god damned murder? You must be out of your fucking mind, bastard!” He hollered, clenching his teeth to try and hold back the many other colorful insults threatening to spill out of his mouth. Monokuma simply tsked, turning his back to the hot-headed Yakuza as he worked on unlocking your cottage door. In a matter of seconds, the deed was done and Monokuma disappeared without a word. The uncharacteristically quiet exit passed through Fuyuhiko’s panicked mind as the jolted forward and opened your door, expecting to see you passed out on your bed again. But his eyes fell on empty sheets, rumpled pillowcases… The only thing of note he could see was a pink splotch on your rug right in front of your bed. “ _ Shit! _” He cursed under his breath, turning around to look over the rest of the tiny living space. There was nothing else, so… that left the bathroom. You were 100% in there, and although he had tried convincing himself earlier that there was nothing to be lost, that you didn’t mean anything to him… the sound of his blood rushing furiously as his heart raced in his chest said something completely different. He inhaled, a shallow and shaky sound, before sliding the door to your bathroom open. A choked sound of surprise and shock became stuck in his throat as he surveyed the mess in front of him.

The sink was full of flowers. More fucking _ roses_. Except these were a creamy, delicate pink - a stark difference from the bright red and yellow from this morning. These weren’t just the heads, either - the sink was everything from full-fledged roses with blood-tipped thorns and stems, down to just the silky petals now soaked in your blood and bile. Fuyuhiko was still gripping the handle of your bathroom door - gripping so hard that his knuckles were turning white - when he looked down to the floor. 

Your pale, sickly frame was carelessly strewn on the tile of your bathroom floor, blood streaming from your mouth onto the floor. The front of your shirt looked to be soaked in _ something_\- probably sweat, bile, or a mix of the two. Fuyuhiko could feel his breath hitch as he studied your form for any signs of visible life - your skin was pale and beginning to look ashy, you were making absolutely no noise, no gasps of breath or groans of pain, and you weren’t even moving. He stood in the doorway, brain fixing into the panic of the situation and setting into overdrive as he _ hoped_… fuck, ** _prayed _ **for you to move. A twitch of your fingers, maybe your foot? 

Suddenly, he ripped his hand off of the door handle, clenching his fist to his side. The only way to know… was to check. He’d have to get his shit together, put on his big boy pants, stop being a _ fucking pussy, _ and _ check_. 

Fuyuhiko stepped awkwardly over your body, one foot on either side. Once he made it to a not-so-awkward spot, he knelt down over you. Just being this close to your body made him realize that you were fucking _ freezing. _ It was humid as fuck outside, and the interior of your cottage wasn’t cold, so it was enough to strike a bit of fear into his heart. He settled over your midsection and, with the most delicate touch he could muster, placed two fingers over the pulse point on your neck. Pouring all of his focus into detecting something, he halted his own breathing for a moment. He could feel his heart starting to sink when he felt nothing, starting to take his hand away. But in that single moment - the fleeting point between his hand moving and his heart taking the brunt of the realization - he _ felt _something.

Fuyuhiko didn’t even realize it, but he was muttering under his breath, “_Please, please… God fucking damn it, please! I can’t lose you too, wake the fuck up!” _Constant murmurs of hopes and pleases left his lips as he pressed his fingers against your pulse point yet again, this time just a tad bit harder.

There it was.

A consistent - but incredibly weak - thrum of a pulse. Under _ his _ fingertips. Coming from _ you_. He retracted his hand, fumbling for a moment to put his hands on your shoulders. “Hey!” He hollered, soon realizing that his hands on your shoulders would do nothing, instead opting to cup your face, lifting one side off the cold tile floor to make you a bit more comfortable. Fuyuhiko was beginning to delve into panic again - your pulse was nearly gone, how long did you have to live? What should he do? 

What should he do…?

_ “Hey, clutz! Open your fucking door before I open it my own damn self!” He hollered, knocking furiously. The door then swung open, and he was facing the resident Ultimate Nurse of the island. “Fuckin’ finally! I’m looking for answers and you’re the only fuckin’ one who has ‘em!” Fuyuhiko pushed past the nurse into her cottage, motioning for her to shut the door. _

_ “U-um… What do you mean?” Mikan sounded absolutely terrified - she usually did, but it was more so amplified by the fact that the Ultimate Yakuza was directing all of his current anger towards her. His face was blossoming red, and there was a vein prominent on his forehead as he continued speaking. _

_ “What the fuck kind of disease makes someone cough up flowers? Huh? Is this a fucking joke or some shit? Because it’s the most idiotic thing I’ve ever witnessed!” He yelled, spitting all over the place as he spoke. _

_ “I-I-It’s called Hanahaki! It’s the result of unrequited love, a-and basically the person has a crush on someone but hasn’t confessed because they don’t think their crush will reciprocate so it becomes a disease where the roots of love try to grow into their respiratory system and kill them-!” Mikan paused to take a large breath, noticing the immediate change in Fuyuhiko’s demeanor when she mentioned death, “...T-The person starts by coughing up flower petals. T-Then it evolves into bigger and bigger pieces until it just becomes that person vomiting up whole flowers. If the love goes unconfessed, u-unrequited… the person affected by the disease will die because the roots will take hold of their lungs and take away their ability to breathe.” Mikan still sounded vaguely scared, but not as much as before. She looked up to study the Ultimate Yakuza’s expression once more, noticing that he was still wearing a deadly scowl. _

_ “What the fuck is the cure, then? There’s gotta be one.” He scoffed, crossing his arms and glaring at the nurse. _

_ “W-well… the only good cure is requited love. H-however… There is another cure. It’s a surgery, but when it removes the roots, it removes the person’s ability to feel passion and love for others e-entirely…” Mikan finished, anxiety still brimming over her words as she spoke. _

That’s what he had to do. The one thing he _ didn’t _want to do - the thing that would make him the most vulnerable fucking person on this island - is what he had to do. But, if it meant saving your life… then he’d damn well try.

He held his breath as he mulled over the words, a deep sickness opening a pit in his stomach simply from anxiety. Still cupping your face, he glanced over you once more. 

_ Deep breath… _

“I won’t let you die like this!_ I love you, damn it!_” 

He nearly screamed it, his voice cracking and every fiber in his body burning red hot as he waited for something, _ anything _ to happen-

A raspy, wet cough left your mouth as you gasped for air, trying to push yourself up into a sitting position. Fuyuhiko’s hands moved from your face to your shoulders, pushing gently just once to signal that you should stay laying down. Your vision was cloudy and you were now aware of the fact that your head hurt like a _ bitch_. Your throat was still rough and ragged, sore and burning from the fit that had caused you to end up on the floor - but you managed to croak out one word, “F-Fuyu…?”

“_Fuck, _ yes, it’s me. Hold on a second.” He spoke, coming off a bit more harsh than he wanted to due to the residual panic rushing through his body. You let your head rest back on the ground, suddenly coming to the realization that you were absolutely _ freezing. _ Squeezing your eyes shut to try and gain clearer vision, you jumped when you felt something warm and soft touch your cheek. It was… a washcloth… was Fuyuhiko cleaning your face? “I highly doubt you want blood dried up on your cheek.” He mumbled, turning your face gently to inspect for other spots. When he didn’t see any more, he set the washcloth back over the rim of the sink. You felt the warmth around your midsection grow distant, causing you to begin shivering worse than before. Blinking hard, you managed to restore your vision, bringing your hands up to rub at your eyes. That seemed to do the trick, as you opened your eyes and flinched at the brightness. Once you became adjusted, your eyes flitted around the tiny space to search for Fuyuhiko. He was kneeling next to you, a very focused look on his face. Without much warning, he shoveled you up into his arms and stood on wobbly legs, carefully carrying you out to the main room. You clutched onto his suit jacket, yelping at the sudden change in altitude. “I don’t trust letting you walk ‘n’ all that shit yet… so you’re gonna have to deal with me.” He murmured, mostly putting his concentration into making it across the room without dropping you.

He managed to do so, setting you gently on your bed. You propped yourself up into a sitting position with your arms, watching Fuyuhiko dart between the bathroom and your main room. “Fuyu, I really hate to bring it up, but… I need to change.” You spoke, voice still rocky from the abuse your throat had suffered. 

Almost instantly, his entire face bloomed into a bright embarrassed red. “Well, I’m not fucking helping with that!” He blurted, before turning even more red (if that was humanly possible), “Not that I don’t _want_ to help! It’s just-” Fuyuhiko Kuzuryu, the Ultimate Yakuza, someone who never had to think twice about his words, was now stumbling over sentences.

You couldn’t help but chuckle - only leading to a wince as your throat rejected the idea. Instead, you offered a small smile. “I know. Just, uh… get Mikan.” You suggested, grimacing at the increasing burning sensation originating in your throat.

He simply nodded, offering a quiet, “I’ll be right back.” Before dashing out the door and over to the nurse’s cottage. After a few minutes, Mikan stumbled through the doorway looking halfway relieved and just as anxious as usual. A small squeak of surprise left her lips as she saw you sitting up in bed. 

“Y-You’re… alive! Well, I sort of figured because Fuyuhiko is the one who got me, but…” Her sentence devolved into meaningless gibberish as she sobbed through her words, overjoyed by the fact that you were still breathing. 

“I know you’re really glad that I’m alive and all, Mikan, but I would really love to change out of these nasty clothes, please.” You smiled sympathetically, and she nodded while heading toward your dresser. You heard your front door shut and you reveled in the fact that you’d be in dry, warm clothes soon. With your guidance, Mikan grabbed you the exact things you wanted to wear - including thick fleece pajama pants and a thin long sleeve shirt, along with some socks. Once she had finished helping you change and had tossed your soiled clothes into the bathroom hamper, she did a quick check-up to make sure you weren’t coming down with a cold or anything as a side effect. She couldn’t come up with anything, so she left with a small smile on her face knowing that you were on the road to recovery. Right after Mikan had left, Fuyuhiko returned. 

“So… uh… Your place is sort of disgusting right now… so, if you want to… you can stay with me tonight.” The Yakuza mumbled, crossing his arms to try and show indifference. However, you could see the slight pink blush beginning to fall over his cheeks. A smile blossomed on your face.

“I’d like that.” You whispered, keeping your voice low in order to refrain from damaging your throat further. With Fuyuhiko’s help, you stood and used him as a crutch of sorts as you both made your way to his cottage.

It had a more relaxing feel to it, the scent of him bringing you an odd sense of relief. He let you sit down on the edge of his bed before moving to the other side of the room, setting a teacup down in front of you. “...It’s chamomile tea. With honey. It’ll help your throat, so you should drink it.” He explained, still trying to sound as indifferent to you as possible. Nodding, you took the small cup in both hands, the warmth of it just comforting you even more. You took small sips at first, enjoying the warm, soothing feeling as it passed through your ruined throat. Fuyuhiko headed back into his own bathroom, emerging after a couple of minutes in just a plain white t-shirt and pajama pants. 

You two sat in silence as you finished your tea, feeling more and more drowsy with every sip. A comfortable warmth was blooming in your core, and for once, you felt safe. Safe and comfortable and protected. After you took the last sip of your tea, you set the cup down on the table in front of Fuyuhiko’s bed, sitting back up with a soft yawn. The exhaustion from the past few weeks with your sickness was catching up to you in this single moment, and your eyelids felt so incredibly heavy. “Fuyu… I’m tired.” You murmured, leaning over onto his shoulder.

“...Then lay down and go to sleep, ya moron.” He said, his own voice sounding groggy as well. 

“But you’ve gotta lay down with me.” You replied back, grabbing his left hand with your right one.

“Jeez, fine.” With that response, both of you got up to peel the sheets and blankets back, climbing under them together. You both laid there on your backs, staring up at the ceiling of Fuyuhiko’s cottage for who knows how long. After a while, you turned on your side and leaned over to plant a soft, delicate kiss on Fuyuhiko’s cheek. The tip of your nose rested against his cheek as you spoke in a gentle whisper.

“I love you, Fuyu.” 

He laid still for a moment, letting you snuggle into his side and letting his arm drape over you as a deep blush covered the Yakuza’s face.

“I… fuck, I love you too.”


End file.
